Page 22 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

Savannah

I stared at it for three rings, my stomach already knotting.

We'd been texting sporadically since our breakup—nothing romantic, just friendly check-ins about family events, mutual friends, the kind of contact that felt harmless enough that I'd never mentioned it to Lucas.

But a call this early meant something was wrong.

"Miles? What's happened?"

"Grandpa Richard had a stroke last night." His voice was tight, strained.

"I'm at the hospital. It was minor—a TIA—but he's in the ICU for observation."

I sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. "Oh my god. Is he going to be okay?"

"They think so. But Savannah, I can't reach Dad. His phone keeps going to voicemail, and I know he's flying back from New York today." The panic in his voice was unmistakable.

"Grandpa has me listed as his emergency contact because I live closest, but Dad should know. He needs to know."

My chest tightened. Lucas in New York, unreachable, while his father lay in a hospital bed. "What do you need me to do?"

"Could you meet Dad at the airport? Tell him what happened?

His flight gets in at eight tonight, Terminal 3.

I'll keep trying to reach him, but if I can't..." Miles's voice cracked slightly.

"I'm supposed to fly to San Diego this afternoon for a client meeting tomorrow morning, and I don't know if I can get back in time.

I don't want him to find out by seeing my missed calls and panicking. "

Every instinct told me this was crossing a line. Lucas and I had been careful to keep our relationship separate from his complicated dynamic with Miles.

But the thought of Lucas arriving home exhausted from travel, only to discover his father was in the hospital, decided for me.

"Of course. Text me his flight details."

"Thank you." The relief in Miles's voice was palpable. "I know this is awkward, given everything, but?—"

"It's fine, Miles. Family comes first."

After hanging up, I stared at my phone, already regretting my choice of words. Family. That's what Miles and I used to be, or were supposed to become.

Now I was sleeping with his father while maintaining friendly contact with him—a situation so ethically tangled I couldn't even begin to unravel it.

I needed to tell Lucas I'd be meeting him, but explaining why without revealing Miles had called me seemed impossible.

Lucas knew we occasionally discussed the Westlake project, but this was deeply personal.

How could I explain that Miles felt comfortable enough to call me about family emergencies?

I opted for vagueness, sending a technically truthful text:

I'll pick you up at SFO tonight. Terminal 3 at 8. We need to talk.

His response came quickly:

A surprise. I like it. See you then, little fox.

The endearment that usually warmed me now sat like lead in my stomach. I was already lying by omission, and I hadn't even seen him yet.

Throughout the day, I received periodic updates from Miles—Richard was stable, grumpy about the hospital food, and demanding to go home.

Normal texts from someone keeping me informed about a family member I cared about.

Except Lucas didn't know about any of them.

By evening, I'd convinced myself that my approach was reasonable. I would tell Lucas about his father first, then explain how I'd found out.

The fact that Miles had been the messenger was secondary—what mattered was getting Lucas to the hospital

When Lucas appeared in the arrivals area, my heart did its usual stuttering dance.

Even after a cross-country flight, he looked impeccable—charcoal suit, silver hair perfectly styled, that commanding presence that made people step aside without realizing why.

But I could see the fatigue around his eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders.

"This is a pleasant surprise," he said, pressing a brief kiss to my cheek. "Though your mysterious text had me intrigued all day."

"Let's get to the car," I said, avoiding his searching gaze. "We can talk privately there."

His expression shifted, registering my tension. "Savannah? What's wrong?"

"The car first."

Once we were sealed in my Audi, I turned to face him, studying the strong lines of his profile. How had I gotten myself into this impossible situation?

"Lucas, I need to tell you something difficult." I took a breath. "Your father had a minor stroke last night. He's stable at San Francisco General. I'm taking you there now."

The transformation was instant—the mask I recognized from our early business meetings sliding into place—Lucas Turner, CEO, who never revealed vulnerability.

But I caught the flicker of fear in his eyes before he banished it.

"How serious?" His voice was perfectly controlled.

"A TIA—a mini-stroke. He's conscious, stable. They're keeping him for observation."

He nodded, processing. Then: "How did you know?"

This was the moment. The question that demanded either truth or deception.

" I heard through the Children's Hospital Foundation network I have a friend who sits on the board," I said, the lie sliding out with shocking ease.

"Richard was supposed to attend an emergency board meeting about the new wing funding tonight. When he didn't show, someone called to check on him and found out he'd been hospitalized."

Lucas's eyes narrowed slightly. Richard no longer attends evening meetings. His schedule is strictly mornings due to his medication regimen."

My blood chilled.

"Maybe it was... maybe I misunderstood the details. The important thing is?—"

"Who specifically told you?" His voice remained calm, but something had shifted—a coolness that hadn't been there moments before.

I started the car, desperate for something to focus on besides his increasingly skeptical expression. "One of the other board members. I don't remember exactly who?—"

"Savannah." The quiet authority in his voice stopped me in my tracks.

"There was no emergency board meeting tonight. The foundation doesn't meet in the evenings, and Richard hasn't attended a meeting in six months due to his health."

The careful fabrication crumbled around me.

We sat in silence as I navigated out of the airport, each lie I'd told echoing in the space between us.

"The truth," he said finally. "Now."

I pulled over in the hospital parking lot, my hands shaking slightly as I turned off the engine.

"Miles called me this morning. He couldn't reach you and asked me to meet your flight, to tell you in person about Richard."

"And you couldn't simply tell me that because...?"

"Because I didn't know how to explain why he called me." The words came out in a rush.

"Because we've been in contact since our breakup—not romantic, just... friendly. Family updates, checking in. I never told you because it seemed harmless, but then this happened, and I realized how it would look."

Lucas went very still. "What kind of contact?"

"Texts mostly. Calls occasionally. He'll update me about Richard's health or mention running into mutual friends. Normal things."

I was making it worse with every word.

"I know I should have told you, but I didn't want to create drama over something innocent."

"Innocent." He repeated the word as if it tasted bitter.

"My son has been in regular communication with the woman I'm sleeping with, and you deemed this 'innocent' enough to hide from me."

"It wasn't hiding, exactly?—"

"What would you call it then?" His phone chimed. He glanced at it, his expression hardening further.

"Miles just landed. His Sacramento meeting ended early, and he'll meet us inside."

The implication hung between us—had I been coordinating with Miles?

Planning this deception?

"Lucas, I had no idea he was coming tonight?—"

"Enough." The single word, spoken with quiet finality, silenced me. "My father is in the hospital. That's my priority right now."

He exited the car without another word, leaving me sitting there with the wreckage of trust scattered around me. I watched him walk toward the hospital entrance—Lucas Turner, untouchable and controlled, the man who had whispered vulnerabilities against my skin just days ago.

I followed at a distance, my heart breaking with each step. At the information desk, he obtained Richard's room number with quiet efficiency, not acknowledging my presence.

We rode the elevator in suffocating silence.

When the doors opened on the fifth floor, Miles was there, pacing the corridor. His face showed genuine worry, his usually perfect appearance disheveled. "Dad!" He moved toward us, then noticed me.

“Savannah? Thanks for coming."

"Meeting ended early," Miles explained, refocusing on Lucas. "I was able to catch a late flight back instead of staying overnight. Grandpa's awake and arguing with the nurses about the food, which the doctor says is a good sign."

"I'll see him now," Lucas said. He turned to me, his expression politely distant.

"Thank you for the ride, Savannah. I can manage from here."

The dismissal was professional, courteous, and devastating.

Miles looked confused, glancing between us.

"Of course," I managed. "I hope Richard recovers quickly."

Lucas nodded once, then walked toward his father's room, effectively erasing me from the equation.

Miles hesitated, clearly puzzled.

"Thanks for helping out," he said. "I wasn't sure if you'd be able to reach him before the flight."

Another layer of misunderstanding.

"It worked out," I said simply. "I should go."

As I walked back to the elevator, I heard Miles fall into step beside his father, their voices fading as they approached Richard's room.

Father and son, united by blood and genuine concern, while I remained on the outside—an interloper who had betrayed the trust of the man I was falling in love with.

In my car, I finally let the tears come.

Not delicate, photogenic tears, but ugly, gasping sobs that left me struggling to breathe.

I'd lied not because the truth was terrible, but because it forced me to confront something I'd been avoiding: I was caught between two Turner men, standing at the intersection of their complicated relationship.

I'd lied because admitting Miles's continued presence in my life meant acknowledging the ethical quicksand I'd been sinking into for weeks.

And my deception had possibly destroyed the most significant connection I'd ever experienced.

By the time I reached home, exhaustion had replaced the tears. My phone sat silent on the coffee table—no messages from Lucas.

He was with his family, where he belonged, dealing with my betrayal later, or perhaps not at all.

My phone buzzed. Zoe's name, not Lucas's.

Just checking in. How's it going with Silver Fox? Still playing with fire?

The timing was almost cruel. I think I just burned everything to the ground.

Coming over. Wine or whiskey?

Whiskey.

Definitely whiskey.

As I waited for my best friend to arrive with liquid comfort and unconditional support I didn't deserve, I confronted the truth I'd been avoiding for weeks.

I was falling in love with Lucas Turner.

And I might have just lost him before I'd found the courage to admit it to myself.